


The Contract

by JayceCarter



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Slavery, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-31 19:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12689169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayceCarter/pseuds/JayceCarter
Summary: The Lone Wanderer has a fling with Charon, but she realizes his contract means things are more complicated than she'd realized.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another shorter piece. It's all written, so I should have the 2nd half up tomorrow. :) 
> 
> Also, yeah, I played with the Underworld setting because I wanted her to have an actual room, haha. Sorry! You can't let silly things like facts get in the way of smut.

Amy stumbled backward a step from the ghoul standing in the doorway. She’d never seen a larger man, ghoul or not.

 

Her hands went for the pistol at her hip, but he reached out and grasped her wrist in a single massive hand of his. “I am not here to hurt you.”

 

“Has anyone told you not to sneak into women’s rooms in the middle of the night? Because it’s a really good way to make someone think you’re there to hurt them.” She yanked at her wrist, but he didn’t release her.

 

His lips turned up at the corners, a tiny movement that would have been so easy to miss. “Ahzrukhal sent me.”

 

“You’re his bodyguard, right?”

 

He released her wrist, peeling each finger away one at a time. “I am in his employ, yes. My name is Charon.” He lifted his other hand, showing a bottle of whiskey. “He wants to ensure you two start off on a good foot.”

 

“So, he sends whiskey and a seven-foot-tall ghoul?”

 

Charon tilted his head. “We are in the Underworld. Alcohol and ghouls are what we have. May I enter?”

 

Amy took a step backward and waved her arm for him to enter. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he could have done so already. Being paranoid didn’t help her, only caused her to give into fear.

 

Charon entered her small room, taking up all the space the moment he stepped foot inside. How the hell did men grow that large?

 

At the least she could admit, he made for a good bodyguard. The moment she’d spotted him in the Ninth Circle, she’d taken notice. He’d glowered from the corner, gaze taking in every potential threat.

 

They’d lingered on her longer than most, but she suspected it had nothing to do with considering her a threat.

 

She doubted she looked like a threat to many. Mostly, she looked like what she was: a young vault dweller in way over her head.

 

Charon’s gaze slid around the room. “Do you have glasses?”

 

“You know what? It might be your lucky day.” She went over and knelt by her pack in the corner. After fishing through it, she pulled out two metal cups she’d scavenged. “Not clean, but whiskey kills germs, right?”

 

Charon’s eyebrow ridge kicked up before he took the glasses. “I am continuously amazed by the fact you smoothskins continue to survive.” He separated the cups, setting one on the dresser while pouring whiskey into the second.

 

“Are you going to have some?”

 

He frowned as if her words made no sense. “This alcohol is a gift for you. It is not for me.”

 

Her back straightened. Was he trying to poison her? Was this all a trick.

 

Charon made a show of giving her an unamused look. “You believe I am poisoning you?” He tipped the whiskey bottle up, taking two large gulps straight from the bottle. “Reassured?”

 

“A bit. Please, pour yourself a drink. I’ll feel like a drunk if I sit here by myself.”

 

“You are not by yourself. I am here.”

 

Amy smiled at the bored tone he held, the one that said he didn’t much care how any of this worked out. She took a large chair from the side of the room and pulled it over, struggling with how it scraped across the floor. “Sit.”

 

He handed off the cup before following her command. The chair groaned as if protesting the weight of the ghoul.

 

Amy took the whiskey bottle and poured a second cup, handing it to him. “So, Charon. What does Ahzrukhal think some whiskey will get him?”

 

“He has heard enough about you over the radio to know you are a force in this world. Whether you are a force who helps him or hinders him is unclear, and he hopes to clear it up.”

 

Amy sat on the bed, legs crossing in front of her. “So he thinks he’s going to get on my good side and I won’t screw with his business?”

 

Charon nodded once before taking a drink of his whiskey. “He isn’t a difficult man to understand. He doesn’t care what you do outside these walls, but he wants you to not become problematic inside the Underworld.”

 

Of course, that’s what he wanted. Moriarty wanted her to not screw with his business, and the Brotherhood wanted her to stay out of their way, and the Enclave had mostly wanted her dead. Every group wanted the same thing.

 

Her absence.

 

Amy drank more of the whiskey in her cup, the burn reminding her of when she’d snuck her father’s whiskey when she was fifteen. Her and Butch had picked the lock on the liquor cabinet when her father had been on an overnight shift. Hell, that was the night she’d lost her virginity to Butch, both of them clumsy and drunk. It had lasted all of two minutes.

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

Her gaze jerked up at his question.

 

He nodded at her. “You have a smile. What were you thinking about?”

 

“I was thinking about the first time I had whiskey. I stole it from my Dad. Got drunk and made out with a boy. Seems whiskey and I are a bad combination.”

 

Charon said nothing at first, face that flat mask she couldn’t read, couldn’t decipher. “That is a common occurrence. Alcohol leads to sex in often. I have worked in the Ninth Circle enough to see it.”

 

Amy took another drink before asking something she knew she shouldn’t. “Is that why you’re here? Are you hoping the two will go together?”

 

“Is that something you would want to happen?” He asked the question without inflection, much like everything else. The way he asked helped. Amy had grown used to being chased, to playing hard to get. They pursued and she said no, that was the game. Charon changed he came by playing indifference, and indifference made her want to chase.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Maybe is not a yes. I require a clear yes, that you wish to have sex with me. If not, we will drink whiskey and sit.”

 

Amy swallowed loudly. “Yes.”

 

Charon nodded and stood. He reached forward to take Amy’s glass and set it on the side table along with his. His fingers brushed hers, the warmth drawing a shudder from her.

 

He moved over her on the bed, causing her to scoot so she could lie back. He dwarfed her, wide shoulders casting a shadow over her. “Have you ever been with a ghoul?”

 

She shook her head.

 

His forehead creased. “You are not a virgin, right?”

 

“I’m not a child,” Amy snapped and pushed at his shoulders.

 

Charon ignored her hands as if the pushing meant nothing. “I never said you were. It’s simply information I require.”

 

“Why do you require it?” She sneered the words out.

 

He leaned in and pressed his lips to her throat. “Because first times are important, and they deserve more than quick fucks with strangers.”

 

She wiggled her thighs until she could spread them around his hips. “Well, you can stop worrying then, because I’ve done this before.”

 

His fingers grasped the zipper of her suit, pulling it down in an even tug.

 

Her back came off the bed as he worked the fabric of the suit down her arms. He got it to her waist, then a few strong pulls got it down her legs and off. His rough hands slid up her legs, the grooves in his skin scratching against her.

 

He hesitated above her when his hands reached her hips. “You are pretty,” he whispered as if he didn’t mean to say it. As soon as the words escaped his lips, he shook his head and wrapped his fingers around the waist of her underwear. Another pull and he had that fabric removed as well.

 

He moved to lie beside her, then spread his hand out on her stomach. His fingers reached hipbone to hipbone like she was a toy. He only enjoyed the sight for a moment before he moved his hand down, between her legs.

 

The first stroke of his fingers up her cunt had her gasping. When was the last time anyone had really touched her?

 

Sure, she’d enjoyed plenty of quickies. Her time with Jericho behind the bar, the trader outside of Megaton, Butch. Those had been quick fumbles, though. Most had been fueled by alcohol and loneliness. Roughness and hunger and more than a little anger. They’d touched her just enough so they could get their dicks into her. Jericho had gotten her off, probably for his own pride more than anything else, but none had seemed to care about her enjoyment.

 

Charon didn’t touch her like that. He went slow, fingers stroking her, teasing her. He gathered wetness on his fingers, coating them until he circled her clit. Each touch was methodical, careful, perfect.

 

Amy reached out and grasped his forearm. She was sure her nails dug in, but he didn’t complain, didn’t seem to notice. He only kept up with the soft movement of his finger against her clit.

 

Her hips moved, small forward thrusts to encourage him to go harder.

 

He must have been paying attention because he angled his hand and slipped his finger into her. Only one, and yet it seemed like more. Not only did he had large fingers, long and thick, but the ruined skin drug against her walls, setting off sparks of pleasure.

 

If his finger felt like that, what would his cock feel like?

 

She considered the side of his shoulders, the expanse of his chest, his thighs. He couldn’t be proportional, could he? Because that wasn’t something she was sure was even possible.

 

Though, if there was mountain she was tempted to climb, this was it.

 

She imagined him over her, his heavy body against hers, the thrust of his hips as he buried himself inside her. She’d dig her heel into his ass to encourage him to go deeper, to take her harder. He wasn’t vocal, she wasn’t expecting dirty talk, but the way his voice rumbled out was delicious. She wanted to hear him groaning and growling above her, lost to passion.

 

Amy rolled toward him, throwing a leg over his hip. She leaned in to kiss him, to feel the ruined skin of his lips, to tug it between her teeth.

 

Charon moved back, avoiding the kiss.

 

She went to ask why, but he took that moment to add a second finger. It stretched her, a sting he soothed by pressing his thumb against her clit. All her questions rushed away when he touched her, when he angled his fingers forward.

 

Amy let her eyes slide closed when Charon moved his lips against her throat again, following the line down to her chest. His tongue stroked her nipple as he fucked her with his fingers. She focused on the way he felt inside of her, the heat of his body, the movement of muscle where her thigh pressed against his hip.

 

She was close, so damned close. Her stomach warmed, a tingling inside of her that she strove for. She wanted to feel that floating away that came after an orgasm when nothing mattered. She wanted to get lost in the feeling, lost in the ghoul next to her.

 

He latched his lips on a spot on her breast above her nipple. He sucked hard, hard enough to leave a mark. It spread that warmth, that tightness until her back arched and she came around his fingers.

 

She let the waves roll over her, her cunt squeezing down around his fingers that still pumped lazily into her, drawing it out. She didn’t make a sound, chest locked down between breaths as he gave her no break.

 

Finally, she pushed at his arm.

 

Charon pulled his fingers from her, the ridges of his skin drawing a whimper from her. He didn’t pull away, didn’t do anything but set his hand on her hip, thumb rubbing against her. She shivered, allowing herself to bask in the sensations still running through her.

 

After a minute, when she’d caught her breath, she risked opening her eyes.

 

Charon stared at her, black eyes unreadable.

 

She drug her fingers down his chest, but realized. . . he wasn’t breathing hard.

 

Granted, ghouls didn’t have the skin to show a flush, but she didn’t see a damned sign of him being interested.

 

“Are you not done?” The flatness of his voice said the same thing. He was unaffected by any of that. She’d seen people more excited when doing paperwork in the vault.

 

Amy pushed herself up to sitting, pulling her leg off him and closing her thighs. “What is this?”

 

Charon sat up next, slowly as if to not spook her. “You said you wanted this. You asked for it.”

 

“Is this some sort of game? Do you get off on this?”

 

He tilted his head. “On what?”

 

Amy moved forward, grasping his groin, finding him flaccid. “You aren’t even interested. Do you just like the power trip from getting women turned on while you feel nothing? What am I, some game?”

 

“I didn’t think you’d want to have sex. I assumed you would finish with my fingers and be satisfied.”

 

Amy shoved him hard then pulled off the bed. She grabbed her vault suit and dressed.

 

“I don’t understand why you’re upset. If you require more, I can provide it.”

 

Amy pointed her finger toward the door. “I don’t need anyone’s pity fuck. Get out.”

 

Charon nodded, standing, hands lifted. “I’ll go.”

 

Amy slammed the door shut behind him, left alone in a room that smelled like whiskey and sex and humiliation.

 

#

 

Two hours later, when her anger hadn’t abated, Amy stormed into the Ninth Circle, whiskey bottle in hand. Ahzrukhal stood behind the bar, lips pulling into a smirk.

 

“Ah, Amy, how nice of you to come visit.”

 

Amy set the whiskey on the bar and slide it across. “I don’t need your alcohol.”

 

“Are you a scotch girl instead? I usually can tell someone’s drink of choice, but I’ve been wrong in the past.” He leaned an elbow on the bar.

 

“Where’s your bodyguard?”

 

“On an errand. Did he not perform up to expectations?”

 

The words had Amy freezing. “What?”

 

“He is normally quite good at what he does, at least that’s what I’ve been told.” His gaze dropped down her body in a way that made her want a shower. “I can’t imagine you have anything beneath that vault suit he hasn’t dealt with before.”

 

“You sent him over to-“

 

“-to fuck you? Yes, of course. That and the whiskey, a reminder of the perks of working with me.”

 

“He’s a bodyguard, not a hooker.”

 

Ahzrukhal’s shoulders lifted. “I hold his contract. He does whatever I tell him to, and I told him to make you happy. Though, judging from the scowl on your face, I suspect he didn’t do a great job.”

 

Amy’s stomach turned. No wonder Charon hadn’t been interested, no wonder he’d seemed so unaffected. It wasn’t some game for him, some power trip he’d gotten off on. He didn’t care because it had been something he’d been forced into.

 

She’d used him and he hadn’t had a fucking choice in it. And then, to top it off? She’d fucking yelled at him.

 

What a disaster. . .  

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Charon didn’t return for two days. Amy went out, ran errands in the area, always stopping back in to find his corner empty, Ahzrukhal’s mocking grin the only familiar thing.

 

Finally, she’d found the ghoul in his normal spot, shrewd gaze sliding across the bar. When his gaze settled on her, he had no reaction.

 

“Can we talk?”

 

“Talk to Ahzrukhal.” He nodded toward the bar.

 

Amy turned to Ahzrukhal, who waved his hand like he didn’t care. “See? It’s fine.”

 

Charon’s lips pressed together, but he nodded. He followed Amy out the door, then down the stairs and into a side room.

 

“What did you want?” He crossed his arms, the action making his shoulders seem wider.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For what happened. I hadn’t realized Ahzrukhal-“

 

Charon’s gaze darted away and rushed a response to silence her. “It’s fine.”

 

“It’s not fine,” she snapped.

 

Fuck. Yeah, yell at him some more. That’s great.

 

“Sorry.” Amy took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to say sorry. I wouldn’t have let you do that if I’d realized.”

 

This time Charon moved forward. He backed her against the wall, setting his hands on the wall on either side of her head. The position crowded her, caged her in, and the point was clear.

 

She was going nowhere until he let her go, and he was the one with the power.

 

“I don’t need your apologies. I don’t need anything from you at all.”

 

“Of course, you don’t.” Amy dropped her gaze this time. Somehow, facing all the emptiness in his face made her chest ache. “You really didn’t want me, did you?”

 

“No.”

 

Ouch. “So why-“

 

“Because this is my life. This has been my life for longer than you’ve been alive. Asking why is a pointless question that changes nothing.”

 

“Right.”

 

He released a sigh before one hand grasped her chin to lift her face. “If I could want anyone, I think I might have wanted you.” His thumb brushed her bottom lip before he pulled away and stood straight. “But what I want has never mattered. So, thank you for the attempt, but don’t try to talk to me again.”

 

He turned and walked out so fast only what he hadn’t said remained, what a man like him would never dare say.

 

_Don’t try to talk to me again, because it hurts too much._

 

#

 

Amy clutched the caps in the bag. It had taken her two months to gather enough. She’d worked over every contact she had, took every job.

 

She’d run herself ragged but this was important. Every extra day it took was too many days.

 

Ahzrukhal laughed when Amy set the bag on the bar. “I didn’t expect to ever see you again, smoothskin.”

 

“I told you I’d be back. I just needed the caps.”

 

“And you managed to gather two-thousand of them? That’s impressive.”

 

Amy pushed the bag across toward Ahzrukhal. “I’m not here for small talk. We have a deal?”

 

Ahzrukhal pulled the bag toward him and nodded. “We have a deal.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small metal square. “This is Charon’s contract. He belongs to you, now. I'll let you be the one to give him the good news.”

 

Amy gathered the contract and turned around, wanting nothing more to do with Ahzrukhal. The longer she’d been in Underworld, the more she’d realized exactly how bad a man he was. He made Moriarty look like a good guy. Hell, Amy might need to deal with him soon.

 

Charon’s gaze watched her when she turned toward him.

 

Amy crossed the distance, trying to look calm.

 

“I thought we had agreed you wouldn’t return.”

 

“I had to come back for this.” Amy lifted her hand to show the contract.

 

His eyes zoomed in on it. “You purchased my contract from Ahzrukhal? That is good to know. Please wait here, I have something I need to take care of.” Charon didn’t wait for a response before he passed her, walking over to the bar where Ahzrukhal stood. “Ahzrukhal, I understand I am no longer in your service.”

 

Ahzrukhal laughed, wiping the bar with a rag. “That’s right, Charon. Did you come to say goodbye? How sentimental.”

 

Charon said nothing else. He lifted his shotgun and unloaded two rounds into Ahzrukhal, and the ghoul didn’t even have time to brace himself for it.

 

People stirred in the Ninth Circle as Charon slid the shotgun back into its holster on his back. No one attacked him, probably too frightened by the things they’d seen and suspected him of doing.

 

Besides, Ahzrukhal had no great love from for the people.

 

Charon returned to stand in front of Amy. “I am in your service, now,” was all he said with a nod as if that settled it all.

 

She now owned another person.

 

#

 

Amy set her things down in Jericho’s house. He never used the place, not since he and Nova had headed toward New Vegas. If he knew she’d taken it over as her residence when in town, he’d have thrown a fit.

 

Good thing he never needed to know.

 

Charon closed the door behind them, and the click of it shutting made her jump.

 

She’d been jumpy ever since he’d been with her. They hadn’t spoken, not beyond the few words that the wasteland required. Shoot there. Hold this. Inject this stimpack. Simple things.

 

Charon hadn’t spoken otherwise, and Amy hadn’t pushed.

 

The only exception had been when she’d asked him if she could free him. Could she destroy the contract?

 

He’d told her that if she even attempted it, he’d be forced to kill her.

 

So much for that idea.

 

“You’re afraid of me?”

 

Amy shook her head as she opened her pack and removed the items, placing them in their spots. “No.”

 

“You were talkative that first night, and yet since then, you haven’t said more than a word or two to me. If you aren’t afraid, what is it?”

 

Amy turned to face Charon, though she kept her gaze down on his chest. “I hadn’t planned this.”

 

“You gathered two thousand caps. That isn’t something you do without a plan.”

 

“Fine. I planned to buy your contract and free you, but you sent that plan to hell. So now I own you or something and that was never part of the plan. I never wanted to have control of someone’s life.”

 

“So, what will you do?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe find someone who you’d want to hold your contract? We could find someone you like, hell, maybe someone you love? I could give them your contract, but it would be your choice. I can’t free you, but maybe that’s as close as we can get.”

 

The floorboards creaked beneath Charon’s weight as he came forward. He stopped just in front of her, not touching her, but close enough the heat of his body poured off him. “You would do that? You would really give up my contract to whoever I wanted? You would waste your caps?”

 

“Of course, I would.”

 

His fingers touched her chin, so much like he had in that room, bringing her gaze up to his. “I think I do want you tonight.” He leaned down toward her.

 

Amy set her hand on his chest.

 

He froze. “Do you not want me?”

 

“I can’t have this be like last time.”

 

“Last time I was ordered to have you. This time, I am asking.”

 

Amy met his gaze, unsure, trying to read it in his face. Did he mean it? Was it different? How could it be different if she owned him?

 

He silenced the thoughts when he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, the kiss he’d refused her that first night.

 

Amy gave in to whatever it was then. She slid her arms around his shoulders, returning the kiss. His lips were ruined, the skin rough and broken, but none of that mattered.

 

Charon slid an arm behind her back and another beneath her thigh. He hoisted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

 

He moved her like it was easy like it was nothing. Hell, it probably was nothing to him. “Bed. Where?”

 

Amy pressed her lips to his cheek, then to his throat. She pointed toward the bedroom, unwilling to break contact long enough for a verbal answer.

 

Hell, right then she’d be happy if he took her on the floor.

 

When he got her into the bedroom, he set her down on the bed. His fingers pulled at her vault suit, stripping her out of with ease.

 

Amy grasped his shirt, tugging the bottom hem.

 

Charon moved away enough to pull his shirt off for her. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t act as if his ruined skin bothered him. He hadn’t, though. Not before, not at any time she’d noticed. Charon moved with ease, like being a ghoul really didn't matter to him,

 

She’d seen Gob once without his shirt. It had been after Moriarty had beat on him and Amy had stopped it. Gob hadn’t looked like this, though.

 

She drew her hands up from his waist, over his ribs, to his chest. The skin was gnarled, with grooves and gouges running across it. She traced them with her fingers, though he didn’t react.

 

Could he not feel it or was he just that stoic?

 

It made her want to experiment, to test it, to see if she could break that control.

 

Not that he seemed willing to let her try. Charon disrobed her, lips moving down her body as he did so. He spread her thighs as he shifted down, nearly off the bed.

 

Silent as ever, he leaned in and swiped his tongue up her folds. He didn’t use the same gentle finesse he’d had that first night. This was harder, less thought out, less planned.

 

When she angled her hips, he set his hands on her thighs. They were huge against her legs, pinning her with ease. She couldn’t even twitch beneath his grasp.

 

He delved his tongue deeper into her, and all she could do was arch her back against the feeling. His tongue withdrew, then slid up to her clit. His lips pulled against it, and fuck if the scars there didn’t feel amazing.

 

“Please,” she whispered. She wanted to beg him, to order him, but she knew better. This had to be his choice, always his choice.

 

He nipped her clit once before kissing up her body. When he reached her face, he set a hand against her cheek. “Do you want me?”

 

“Do you?”

 

The corners of his lips tilted up at her challenge. “Yes, I do.”

 

She hooked a heel against his hip. “Then yeah, I want you, too.”

 

He brought a hand between them to unfasten his pants as he kissed her, the remnants of herself on his lips. He managed to work his pants off, kicking them to the floor, before his cock rubbed against her.

 

“Fuck,” she whimpered when he pressed against her clit.

 

“If that’s what you want.” The laugh in his voice disappeared when he pressed into her.

 

Yeah. Proportional.

 

He pressed his lips to her ear to whisper. “Breathe through it, Amy. Do you want to stop?”

 

“No. Just, slowly.”

 

He nodded, cheek rubbing against hers. His hips advanced, tiny thrusts that made slow progress. He stretched her with every inch.

 

Amy buried her nails in his shoulders, body twisting in discomfort. Yeah, fuck, maybe this should have been considered more carefully. This was the sort of thing that require serious stretching or alcohol before hand. 

 

He stilled, hand going to her hip, warm and solid. His thumb brushed over her skin. A rumble came from his chest, low and deep enough she felt it where his chest pressed against hers.

 

“Are you purring?”

 

He pushed up to frown at her. “What? No. It’s a soothing sound, a growl.”

 

Amy couldn’t help the laugh as she imagined this huge ghoul curling up on the armrest of a chair and purring.

 

“It is not a purr,” he insisted.

 

“I’m sorry to tell you, but that shit it a purr. You purr.”

 

“Well, since you seem to be in good spirits,” he muttered before shifting his hips forward again. Because she’d been relaxed, he managed to make good progress. “There we are.”

 

“Please tell me we’re done.” She released a soft sound that edged into a moan.

 

“In? Yes. Done? I hope not, though we can be.”

 

Amy shook her head, arm tightening around his shoulders. “Not a chance.”

 

“Brave smoothskin.” He kissed her forehead before pulling back and sliding into her. He kept the thrusts shallow and slow.

 

Once the sting subsided, once she could focus on how he felt as he dragged against her, she whimpered. His cock stretched her in the best way, rubbing against her as he angled his hips until he found whatever made caused the best reaction.

 

He was attentive, but not like the first night. That time he’d been disconnected, miles away despite being right beside her. He’d been textbook perfection but lacked passion.

 

This time, there was passion. There was the quiver of muscle beneath her hands, his heavy breath against her cheek, the quick stutter of his hips that showed his control fighting with what he wanted.

 

His arm twisted behind her to pull the small of her back up, angling her hips. It meant as he thrust into her, he slid against her clit, each groove in his cock and pelvis catching against her.

 

Her heels pressed into the mattress, lifting her hips. Toward him or away, she wasn’t sure.

 

Charon released a sound that was definitely not a purr. Instead, it was hard, deep, and feral. His arm tightened around her, pulling her hard against him as he moved his hips faster, taking her deeper. Thankfully, he’d gone slow enough that it didn’t hurt. Hell, she revealed in the harshness, in that line between pain and whatever the hell she was feeling.

 

This time she didn’t edge toward the orgasm like the first night. He didn’t ease her into it, didn’t coax her closer. Instead, he continued the hard thrusts, stroking against her clit, until she came around him.

 

He didn’t stop his thrust, even as she squeezed down around him, and after another moment he pushing in deeper and went still. At least, still other than the pounding of his chest against hers.

 

“Keep it,” he said as he pulled out.

 

Amy rolled to her side to face him. “Keep what?”

 

“That contract.” He mirrored her position. “I want you to keep it, at least for now.”

 

Amy smiled at the way he said it, voice rough like he didn’t want to risk her thinking anything sweet. “So you sort of like me?”

 

“That remains to be seen.”

 

“Well, at least it gives me time to hear you purr again.”

 

Another growl before he pulled her over, against him. “I do not purr, smoothskin.”

 

Amy shrugged, rolling over so her back against his chest. “Sure, whatever you say, kitten.”

 

He nipped her shoulder in punishment before she closed her eyes. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my first real Charon fic. I have another planned that will be longer, but I really wanted to get this one up because it was short.


End file.
